


His Hands

by Dawnlit_Waters



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, First Time, Hand & Finger Kink, Hands, Intimacy, M/M, Memories, Mild Obsessive Behavior, Pining, Requited Love, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, mild possessive behavior, musings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 21:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15421623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnlit_Waters/pseuds/Dawnlit_Waters
Summary: Dick loves Bruce's hands. Very, very much.





	His Hands

Dick Grayson returns to the land of the waking after hours of dreamless sleep. Opening his eyes, he sees a beam of sunshine streaming through the gap between the heavy velvet drapes covering the French doors. It lands on the naked expanse of his hip, on top of which rests his bedmate's right hand. With a tender smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Dick drinks in the sight of his favorite part of Bruce's body bathing in the sun. The angle light bounces off his fingernails, the shades of the shadows of his wrist bones…

Bruce's hands were among the very first things Dick noticed about him. The fateful night when his world turned upside down, Bruce came to him and expressed his condolence. The man then introduced himself, offering a handshake. Hesitant—his own hands were still dressed in bandage-like handgrips and heavily dusted with rosin—he reached out, and then found his hand clasped in both of Bruce's. _Large hands, strong and steady—he'd make a good catcher_ , the thought flickered across his mind before fading into the background of chaotic white noise.

At that time, he had no idea that his observation would turn out to be a prophecy, that this kind stranger kneeling at his side would not only catch his fall then and there, but also again and again in the years to come.

Throughout those years, as Bruce Wayne's ward and Batman's partner, he became closely acquainted with the man's hands. He knew beneath their slightly roughened appearance carefully maintained to complement Bruce's rich amateur sportsman persona hid formidable strength and marvelous dexterity. He knew their utter fragility and sheer toughness—he'd witnessed them suffering from numerous fractures, burns, lacerations, dislocations, and so on and so forth. (Thanks to the best plastic surgeries money could buy, most traces of injuries are gone. Only two nigh-invisible webs of scar tissues remain to betray the ordeals they have gone through to trained eyes.) He knew how heartbreakingly gentle and soothing their touch could be when Bruce tended his wounds or comforted him after terrible nightmares.

And then there were things about Bruce's hands he'd rather never have learned, like the way they moved sliding down the scantily-clad back of beautiful socialites, and the way they bled from puncture wounds left by diamond-encrusted claws.

Whenever he had to endure the sight of Bruce's hands in such situations, he concentrated on the hands themselves the best he could, studying them thoroughly. The square-rounded shape of the fingertips, the slight curves of each knuckle, the thin calluses dotting the upper-palm areas, the intricate patterns of the lines on the palms and the veins on the back of hands, major tendons and muscles visible under the skin…he committed all of them and more to memory to keep him company in the lonely small hours of the night.

He spent more time fantasizing about Bruce's hands in his mid- to late-adolescence than he'd ever admit. He developed not-so-chaste feelings for Bruce around the same time Bruce decided he had outgrown the need for casual physical contact. Intense pining for the man's touch ensued as the inevitable result.

He would often open his fantasy with recalling Bruce's hand on his shoulder or his arm, and then try to conjure up the sensation of that hand roaming over places it had never been to, his mind’s eye picturing its tantalizing path. The delicious friction, the maddening heat, on his throat, on his chest, on his abdomen, on his hard-on, _inside_ him.

Of course, he dreamed of having other parts of Bruce's anatomy inside him too. But regardless of how nice those scenarios involving the man's tongue and shaft might be, they lacked the element of realness that made things truly exciting. With hands it's different. He knew by heart the appearance and texture of Bruce's fingers. Using just a little imagination, he could virtually sense those long and thick digits filling him up, rubbing against his inner walls, kindling sparkles of ecstasy…

Or at least he thought he could. The real deal proved to be beyond any imagination. The first time Bruce fingered him, he felt like a traveler setting foot in a location he'd only seen crude, black-and-white photos of. He came undone mere seconds after the man pushed the first finger past his entrance. (In his defense, sucking on Bruce's fingers beforehand had already sent him one foot over the edge.) The pure elation blossoming behind his sternum made his eyes dewy and completely drowned out the embarrassment of finishing so soon.

Bruce told him in amazement later on that he had the brightest grin across his face while being prepared, even during moments of discomfort due to stretching. How could he not? The fingers of the man he loved so, _so_ much, fingers that had featured in countless dreams and daydreams of his, was finally, _finally_ touching his most intimate flesh. When Bruce tried to withdraw his hand after helping him get accustomed to the girth of three massive fingers, he held on tight, refusing to let go. It took the man a great deal of coaxing to get him to agree to move on to the next step.

The next step was sweet, and was made even sweeter by Bruce caressing every inch of him the entire time with loving, skillful hands. Toward the end, one of them found its way to his erection. Following a series of heavenly strokes, he spilled all over Bruce's fingers wrapping around him as he chanted " _Bruce…Bruce…Bruce…_ "

Basking in the afterglow of his mind-blowing climax, he captured Bruce's soiled hand and began to lick it clean, punctuating the long, savoring laps of his tongue with open-mouthed kisses and nibbles. He continued as Bruce's thrusts grew increasingly harder and quicker and more erratic. The instant Bruce marked him with his seeds, he left his own mark on Bruce as well.

Years have passed since they claimed each other, but Dick can still recall those two neat rows of teeth mark at the base of Bruce's thumb in vivid details. Reaching out, he runs his fingertips across the patch of skin that once bore them.

Bruce's hand twitches at the feather-light contact, and then it holds on to his, intertwining their fingers.

Bringing their linked hands to his lips, Dick presses a soft kiss to Bruce's wrist.

"Morning."

"Morning."

**Author's Note:**

> Your feedback will make me a happy, happy writer and keep me going. <3


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